


je te connais et je t'aime

by demitri



Series: The wretched and divine [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, I wrote it during pride man-, I wrote this for a server competition ages ago, Light Angst, Marriage Proposal, This is so soft, Useless Lesbians, and I’m only deciding to post it now like..., like... I love, wlw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 15:19:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21273341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demitri/pseuds/demitri
Summary: Luciana was an angel in the making, then, somehow, holier. She was every smear of frosting on a cupcake and each dazzling rainbow in the sky. She was every stolen kiss behind each filthy club in West end, every hand reaching out to steady a laughing drunk. She was every lazy morning and rushed afternoon and each lethargic, heat-sluggish night.She was the hand Aleksandra held at every tattoo appointment, after every shift at work. The hand that stitched up her bruises and sewed up each cardinal gash she had required for honour. She was each press of silk on cotton and makeup on clean sheets and each blinding moment that could only be considered daring.





	je te connais et je t'aime

**Author's Note:**

> Look at me, posting 3 works in one day 😎 yes yes, I’m a cool kid bro. 
> 
> Anyway, Nanowrimo? Do I want to put myself through that pain when I have school? Maybe not, maybe I shall? If I did it would post it on here, and I have 6 hours until the first day is over and it’s only 1167 words. it’s a feasible amount to write per day, even if I am super busy. On average for what I post I do around 2k plus? I don’t know, the only thing is that I’m lacking ideas, even if o have been playing around with a coffee shop thing, or like... tattoo shop flower shop? But then, it’s not really my own novel. It’s just... an au? That’s if I decide to make it a fanfic and not my own work.
> 
> Okay. Sigh, i should have thought this out previously. Now I suffer.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy this! Wlw romance is just... I love writing it. what else do I say? I like making it soft and shit, interspersing just a bit of angst because it’s demon, THERES gotta be angst and,,, just enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Stay safe kiddos.
> 
> -Demon

There was a girl, 19, and this was the first time she has ever felt like she was loved. The first time her eyelids have fluttered closed to the simple sounds of her own breathing and not to the cries of something  _ sinister. _

Her life had been forced to dance to the howls of a wolf, too the drums of a war that only existed in her head, to each haunting note of the piano, to the finality of a funeral march. 

She sighed, breathing deep, inhaling the strong scent of coffee and thick pancakes. 

This was home, this was  _ safety. _

There is a girl, 25, who has been taught that safety was in numbers, in each push and drag of aching bodies too gangly, too awkward, too wild and young and naive. She'd been taught that every spirit hanging in the air was a shield to hide behind, a person to sacrifice in place of you. A martyr for her cause, a soldier for her war. 

Until her, that is, ever contradiction smashed into one body. Each curve a river bend of pain, each fingertip a weapon of mass destruction, each smile wondrously disarming and full of hope; pure, light, wondrous  _ hope. _

_ (The gods had learnt to rue the day she opened her mouth -  _ full of gold, full of poppy seeds, teeth sharp with every broken dream -  _ and wished. How could they deny such a being of their hands?)  _

“Aleksandra, I know you're there,” her hope said, every syllable a death wish and every death wish a chance for something better. Cleaner. Newer.

Luciana was an angel in the making, then, somehow, holier. She was every smear of frosting on a cupcake and each dazzling rainbow in the sky. She was every stolen kiss behind each filthy club in West end, every hand reaching out to steady a laughing drunk. She was every lazy morning and rushed afternoon and each lethargic, heat-sluggish night. 

She was the hand Aleksandra held at every tattoo appointment, after every shift at work. The hand that stitched up her bruises and sewed up each cardinal gash she had required for honour. She was each press of silk on cotton and makeup on clean sheets and each blinding moment that could only be considered daring. 

She was each cup of coffee and each ridiculous milkshake, and every single grain of sugar in a bowl of strawberry. Every drip of cherry juice, every pomegranate seed flung in mock anger, ever halting hand that Aleksandra couldn't believe was her. 

She was, she was,  _ she was.  _

She, Aleksandra, smiled, too used to the fleeting process of each morning. Too used to hands pressing her down and down and down. Hands that could drown her, but didn't. Hands that she would let drown her, in this life and the next. 

“It's no use trying to best you, Luci. You always know where I am.” Her feet padded across the floor, bringing her near enough to wrap ink-laced arms around the waist of the dark-skinned girl, breathing in the scent of bergamot and fresh pancake batter, committing it to memory then doing it again.

“you're hopeless babe,” she laughed, throwing her head back far enough for Aleksandra to press a soft kiss to her clavicle. “And besides, you're predictable. I've know you better than the back of my hands, than the inside of my body, than, than-” 

“I think I know myself?” Aleksandra filled in, making a soft humming noise when long nails scratched the back of her neck, ruffling shorn short hair and pressing indents into each new bruise.  _ Possessive,  _ she thought,  _ I love it.  _

“Yes, in fact. You seem to think you're this hard ass-” Aleksandra snorted “- no nonsense son of a bitch but you're not.” 

“I'm not?”

“The devil dealt you the wrong hand dear.” Luciana grinned, sharp and feral. 

“The only card game I play is uno,” Aleksandra pointed out, shifting the pan off of the heat of the stove before Luci burnt the pancakes again. She wasn't in the mood to eat charred black monstrosities swaddled in a nest of fruit and whipped cream and too much syrup. 

"You got handed a draw 8 in life and you have too many cards already. My poor gay, girlfriend, how ever will you cope?" She batted her eyelashes in faux innocence. 

Aleksandra pretended to think. "I don't know, maybe with my amazing girlfriend?" 

Luciana clapped, barking out a laugh. "Who else, baby girl? I've got your back and you've got mine! That's how it goes, right?" 

Aleksandra blinked furiously, linking her pinky finger with Luciana's, bringing it to her chapped lips for a chaste kiss. A promise, even if they didn't dare utter the words." that's how it goes."

"Good, I wouldn't have it any other way. Y'know. Each morning I don't wake up to you is a day I don't wanna experience and-" 

"Alek, slowly," Luci reminded, eyes bright as she led the other girl to the table, gesturing to the steadily cooling cup of coffee on the table. "We have all the time in the world and then some, it's fine. No one is chasing you." 

Aleksandra swallowed down the growing lump in her throat, letting out a choked laugh. Yes. This was why she loved her. This is why she had let her into her heart and her home and her life. This is why she wanted her too much for her aching bones to handle.

"I just, Je t'aime. I love you. I'll say it in any language you want me to just as long as you believe it." She paused, wiping her greasy hair away from her face before continuing. "You're my one and only, my happiness, the ruler of my dreams. I love you, Luciana Valentina Vasquez.

"You make my day, you make me believe this can get better. You make me better. And-" 

"Are you going to continue singing my praises, or are you going to-" 

"Marry me?" Aleksandra blurted, cheeks red. "I know I don't have an engagement ring right now but I have a gay pride ring that you could wear until I get you a real one. And I know we've never really discussed this or spoken about weddings before but we could get married in a shark tank for all I care, or in the pits of hell-"

Her rambling was cut off with a kiss; slow and sweet as molasses, the same kiss that had disarmed her all those years ago and continued to do so.

It was painfully chaste, but enough to convey the message -  _ shut up. _

"Aleksandra Antonia Kholodov, since we're doing full names today, it would be an honour to marry you."

Yes, there as a girl, 25, who had been taught how to love.


End file.
